


Before I Wake

by jae_blaze



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All That We See or Seem, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystrade is Magic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jae_blaze/pseuds/jae_blaze
Summary: Once he had been perfectly content. Mycroft’s life was of his own making and he could not see a reason for that to change. But suddenly it had and his nights became interesting. At night, Greg appeared, colouring his world and filling his heart in ways he never could have imagined. He found himself wanting to change.The only problem?It was Not Real.Mycroft knows that something isn’t quite right with the dreams he’s been having, but the thing is, he’s enjoying them too much to end them.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 39
Kudos: 145
Collections: Mystrade Is Magic





	Before I Wake

**Author's Note:**

> As always, it is a true dream to have [TheSoupDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoupDragon/pseuds/TheSoupDragon) as a beta, but even more so, as a friend.

Mycroft’s hand flexed and then tightened around the worn leather steering wheel as he shifted the sleek red convertible into the next gear. The sun reflected off the ocean beside him as the road stretched out, winding and open. There was not another car for miles. He tilted his head back to take a deep breath, the air fragrant with the sea, fresh baked bread, sunflowers, and hope as he increased speed, the sports car hugging the curves of the road with ease. He had nowhere to be and was in no rush to be there. It was a thing of beauty.

Greg’s arm brushed against his as he leaned over to adjust music on the dash, his sudden appearance startling Mycroft.

“Always suspected this,” Greg's voice came over the rush of the wind in Mycroft’s ears.

“Suspected what?” Mycroft looked over at Greg, who was watching him and smiling.

“You, Mycroft Holmes, are a secret daredevil.”

Mycroft laughed, enjoying the way Greg’s eyes widened at the sound. He found he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. He reached over and grabbed Greg’s hand, placing a kiss on the back of it before interlacing their fingers. He turned back towards the road as sirens sounded. No, not sirens. An alarm.

“Time to get up, gorgeous,” Greg softly whispered.

Mycroft opened his eyes, his bedroom dark and cool. With a sigh, he reached over and silenced his alarm.

This was the third dream this week that Greg had appeared out of nowhere and for no reason. The thought of why and how, nagged in the back of his mind. He swore he could smell the leather of the car and the fresh sea air as he kicked off his pants and stepped into the shower. Greg’s smile flashed through his mind as his hand moved down his body. Quickly, he turned the shower to cold and gasped as the frigid waters shocked his system. He was going to be late if he did not move quickly.

Mycroft’s day could be summed up as dull. Tedious. Monotonous. Grey walls that led to endless meetings and back to white sheets of paperwork that kept him occupied from the moment he arrived in his office until he bid Anthea goodnight and pocketed his phone.

British Government, indeed. Perhaps at one time, but these days he felt more like a waste of space. He had worked hard to graduate to his current post, done more than his fair share of legwork, and he was proud to be where he was now, but it had all come at a cost. He had been happy to play by the rules dictated to him by his life choices, and what he believed would keep those around him safe, but he had been feeling confined and isolated as of late and if he had to hear one more bloated government official talk up his or her own importance, he might scream. He might do more than that, but he felt treasonous even thinking it.

He entered his house quietly and didn’t bother with the lights as he made his way to his kitchen. Silence surrounded him as he ate a simple dinner. Afterwards, he wandered around his study, feeling like a ghost in his own life. Finally, Mycroft settled on a book before retiring to his sofa to read. Lost in his book, time slipped away, sleep pulled him under, like icy claws.

“Another drive?” Greg’s voice startled Mycroft as he slid out from under the car he was trying to repair.

“No, I have…” Mycroft wiped the sweat off his forehead. The garage was hot and dusty with the warm sun shining through the window. “I have...something to do?” Mycroft couldn’t remember what it was that he needed to do, only that it was important. He looked around, searching for his tools. Always searching. Everything was lost. Black smoke curled in the corner of the room. Mycroft stood up and tried to battle back the panic that was building up inside.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Greg was immediately at his side. He grabbed onto his hand and pulled him outside a burnt house. His burnt house. Mycroft stared at it blankly. He could see the black smoke from the windows.

“What’s this, then?” Greg asked, when Mycroft remained silent.

“A memory.”

“What happened?”

Mycroft took a deep breath, prepared to divert attention, prepared to hide away, prepared to deny, but for some reason he started talking. Talking of his childhood, of his past, of his choices, of his loneliness. Greg’s thumb rubbed a small circle from where their hands were joined.

“I think that’s enough. Walk with me?” Greg pulled him away and the house and the smoke disappeared. Mycroft looked down at their joined hands. “So, were you always Mycroft? Never Myc?”

“God, no.”

“Mykie?”

“I will have you executed.”

Greg stopped moving and tugged on Mycroft’s hand, turning him around so they were face to face. “Croft?” Greg asked softly.

“I cannot say I’ve ever been called that one,” Mycroft replied, equally softly.

“Then it will be mine,” Greg smiled and they started walking again. “Did I ever tell you about the summer I worked on cars with my uncle?” Greg asked, pulling Mycroft into a field of grass. The light played a golden, orange hue over the ground, making everything feel warm and safe. Mycroft got lost listening to Greg talk as they walked. Greg turned and ran a hand down his face, his thumb rough over his stubble. “Time to go now.”

Mycroft sat up on the sofa. The early morning purple light crept through his window. He was too old to spend his evenings on the couch, he thought as he made his way upstairs. The palm of his hand felt warm and the scent of oil and grass lingered in the air before he stepped into the shower.

It was only a matter of time before Mycroft crossed paths again with Greg. Real Life Greg.

The impact of seeing the man in the flesh was similar to the impact of being doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. It took his breath away for a moment, to see him standing in the rain, next to John, while Sherlock was waving his arms around, no doubt yelling some kind of nonsense. It was a shame he had come to take the case out of Scotland Yard’s capable hands.

Mycroft took a deep breath and stepped out of the slick cool back seat of his black car. An umbrella opened above his head and he took it without so much as a glance. The wind had kept onlookers away from the normal curiosity that flashing blue lights might attract.

Sherlock noticed his approach and pulled John away before Mycroft had a chance to greet either of them. No matter. He turned towards Greg. Real Greg. His heart sped up as a month of nighttime visits from Dream Greg came rushing into his mind. Dream Greg who called him Croft with a soft smile, whose lips warmed the back of his hand, who curled next to him on the couch, tucking his feet under his legs while he read, who knew more about him than any other human.

Who was Not Real.

“Detective Inspector,” he began.

“Let me guess,” Greg crossed his arms, a small smile playing on his lips. “One of yours?”

“Indeed.” Mycroft turned away from the sight of the rain dripping down Greg’s face. He focused on the puddles reflecting the streetlamps instead.

“Jesus. Don't tell me, if I ask you anything about it, you’d have to kill me?”

Mycroft’s eyes flew back to Greg’s at the sound of his teasing tone, so like Dream Greg’s. But this wasn’t Dream Greg.

“Indeed,” he said again. He gave a nod and turned away. The wind blew the rain against his face and he shifted the umbrella against the onslaught.

Not Real.

Mycroft was running. He was being chased and had fled into the woods. Greens and browns flew by him in a blur like a melted watercolor. The sky opened up above and cold rain poured down on his head. He stopped running and looked around. He was lost. Lost and cold. Panic flared up inside him. Browns turned to black, as the smell of decay reached his nose. Death was coming. He wrapped his arms around himself to try to get warm. The sky let out a low rumble that he felt in his chest. He needed to get home. Where was he?

“Croft!” Greg called, appearing in front of him, a halo of warmth. Mycroft felt relief flow over him. “I found shelter, come with me.”

Mycroft followed Greg as the rain fell. He led them to a path that looped up to what seemed to be a dead end. With a smile, he pulled back the branches and motioned for Mycroft to go ahead of him. Mycroft crawled through the brush and found himself behind a waterfall. It felt as if he had entered a secret world. Bright flowers, colourful and fragrant, blossomed on either side of them while the storm raged on the other side of the falls. A small, warm fire was lit and cast an orange yellow glow against the wall.

“This is beautiful,” Mycroft shivered. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Come here. You’re frozen solid.” Greg pulled him close, opening his coat to allow Mycroft to wrap his arms around him and absorb his body heat. Their faces were inches apart. Water droplets clung to Greg’s lashes. Mycroft followed a stray drop as it made its way down Greg’s cheek and he longed to follow it with his tongue.

“I saw you today,” Mycroft whispered instead.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to touch you. I wanted to bring you home with me and take care of you. I hated leaving you behind but I know you’re not real.”

“I am real, Croft,” Greg's hand cupped his face.

“No, you are not.”

“What if this was real? What if you could have this? What if…”

Mycroft’s phone began ringing, interrupting Greg’s urgently whispered words. Mycroft wanted to scream in annoyance.

“Answer your phone, it’s important,” Greg smiled, slipping back from him.

“No,” Mycroft stepped forward, chasing the contact.

“Go on, gorgeous. Save the world. I’ll see you again.”

Mycroft opened his eyes. He was sitting on his couch, soaking wet, his phone ringing from his pocket. He had only been damp when he had moved from his car to his house. He lifted a hand to his cheek.

His phone had stopped ringing and started up again. It was truly urgent then. He swore as he took a steadying breath before he answered.

Mycroft was in a meeting. In a suit. At a beach.

He wanted to shut off the laptop and enjoy the sound of the water. He wanted to enjoy the feeling of the sun. But. Duty called. Duty always called. He opened another email.

“He wouldn’t, couldn’t at the beach,” a voice startled him. He looked next to him and saw Greg in swimming trunks lying next to him on the sand. He swallowed hard.

“What?”

“You can’t even relax at the beach?” Greg motioned to the laptop.

“I wish I could.”

“Then what’s stopping you, Croft?” Greg leaned over and closed the top of his computer and tossed it into the sand. Mycroft’s suit instantly changed into swimming trunks. “Live with me.”

“This is just a dream,” Mycroft said. Of course it was a dream.

“Of course it’s a dream,” Greg rolled his eyes. “So, you can’t even relax in your dreams?”

Mycroft turned his head to look at him, allowing himself the freedom to look his fill. This would be coming to an end soon. One way or another.

Greg was lying on his side, facing Mycroft, his head propped up by his arm, his other hand was running his fingers through the sand in a lazy pattern. His smile was easy, but he was staring at Mycroft with an intensity that made him shiver.

“I do not have the luxury of relaxing, no matter how much I may wish to do so. Besides, what I wish is irrelevant,” Mycroft said.

“And what would you wish for, Mycroft Holmes?”

“Don’t you know?”

Greg swallowed and leaned forward. Mycroft felt his breath across his lips. “Kiss me, Croft.”

Mycroft groaned and crushed his lips to Greg’s. Heat and light exploded behind Mycroft’s eyes. He protested when Greg pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” Greg pressed two fingers to his lips. “I have to go.”

“What, why?” Mycroft thought he could hear a ringing, but it sounded far away. “Stay.”

“Keep that thought, please. It’s a very good thought.” Greg looked to his side, then back to Mycroft. “I’ll see you soon, gorgeous.”

Mycroft was again alone on the beach. He laid back on the sand and willed himself awake.

He opened his eyes and saw that his bedroom was just as he left it. The early morning light was just starting to shine a cool blue through the windows. He sat up in bed and opened the drawer next to him. The amulet he had acquired remained in the black velvet bag, untouched. He slammed the door shut.

Not wishing to stay in bed any longer, Mycroft got up to shower and begin his day. Padding across the white tiles and back into his room with a towel around his waist, he noticed something on his bed where he had been lying. He went over and ran his hand along the sheets. He lifted the material up.

Sand.

He felt his blood run cold.

His phone rang. He answered it absentmindedly. Sherlock and John had gotten into trouble and he was needed immediately to bail them out. Again. He hung up the phone without a word. He brushed the sand from his hand and made a note to have his cleaner do another sweep of his bedroom today. Then he quickly dressed and headed out to attend to Sherlock.

It was another month before Mycroft saw Real Greg again.

He stood in Mycroft’s office, in front of his desk and it took all of Mycroft’s self control not to jump on the man while he provided his update on Sherlock and John. Instead, Mycroft stayed firmly seated, focusing on the papers in front of him. He was relieved when Anthea opened the door and indicated it was time for his next meeting. He listened to her heels click down the hallway, the door left open in a clear signal for Greg to leave.

“If that’s all, then,” Mycroft said into the silence, not looking up.

“That’s all. Take care, Croft.”

Mycroft froze for a brief moment and then looked up. Greg was already on his way out of the room. “What did you say, detective?”

“I said, take care, Mycroft.” Greg turned back to Mycroft and gave him a smile that looked strained.

“Indeed.” Mycroft watched him leave with narrowed eyes. “Thank you. You as well.”

He thought for a few moments, his mind piecing together the events over the past few months. He pulled out a card and made a quick call. Hanging up the phone, he called to Anthea.

“Cancel my appointments and call for the car. I have a few places I need to go.”

It was time. He had put this off long enough.

Mycroft sat in the middle of a gigantic theatre. The red velvet seats around him were empty, but he was not worried, he knew he would have company shortly. No sooner had he thought it, the familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. He smiled into the nook of Greg’s arms, inhaling the scent that was so Greg.

“Hey, gorgeous. Where are we tonight?”

“Opera.”

“I’ve never been,” Greg sounded interested as he placed kisses along Mycroft’s neck.

“Then this should be quite the experience for you. Come sit next to me.”

Mycroft smiled when Greg hopped over the row to settle onto the plush seat to his right. “I can’t take you anywhere,” he murmured. The lights in the theatre began to dim to a low amber glow. The orchestration began, sad and sweet. Mycroft had been waiting, his heart beating in time to the music as he intertwined their fingers. “What is it you wish, Greg?”

“Just to be with you,” Greg’s reply was immediate.

“Like this? Here, at night?”

“Everywhere, Croft.”

Mycroft’s mentally replayed Greg's words as the footage was brought up before him.

“Are you sure you want to see this?” the woman with long, white blonde hair and a turned up nose asked. Her face blank, but her eyes shrewd.

“Play it,” he steadied himself. His fingers fisted inside the pockets of his grey suit.

This was the missing piece.

Mycroft left the small white building an hour later with a velvet red bag and his mind even more conflicted than before.

A noise startled Mycroft. His eyes flew open in the darkness. His mind struggled to remember where he was, when he heard another noise. He moved to turn on the light, when Greg slid on top of him, his hips bracketing his own.

“What are you doing here?” Mycroft asked, right as Greg brought a finger up to cover his mouth. The room faded and they were outside, on top of a soft fur blanket under a sky full of stars. It was cheesy. It was romantic. Mycroft’s eyes returned to Greg’s as he moved his finger away and replaced it with his mouth. The kiss was soft and gentle. Mycroft tangled their legs together, feeling the blanket beneath his limbs.

“I missed you,” Greg lifted his head enough to rub his nose into the side of Mycroft’s face as he slowly rocked his hips down, his breath hot against Mycroft’s neck. “I want you.” He nipped along his jaw. Mycroft bit back a groan. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Mycroft suddenly rolled so that Greg was pinned beneath him, his hands holding Greg’s wrists to the blanket, his voice hard as he hissed out the word, “Liar.”

“What?” Greg stilled beneath him, warm brown eyes wide, reflecting the starlight impossibly.

“You heard me,” Mycroft let the ice seep into his tone. The amulet around his neck had come loose and swung between the two of them. Greg’s eyes watched it swing without saying a word.

“Why are you wearing that?” Greg asked, softly.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” Mycroft shook his head. “I know what you are.”

“And what is that?”

“Dreamwalker,” Mycroft ground out. Greg kept his eyes on the amulet. Mycroft’s heart pounded in his ears. “Say something,” he pleaded.

“I’m falling for you. I’m falling in love with you.” Greg closed his eyes.

“Stop! Don’t say that! You don’t get to say that!” Mycroft pushed up, tightening his grip on Greg’s wrists as the dreamscape faded and his bedroom returned. The light was warm and glowing from beside his bed. “If I am wearing this, then you know that I know how to make you go away.”

“Wait,” Greg struggled beneath him. “Don’t.”

Mycroft glared down at him. He steadied himself to banish Greg, banish the Dreamwalker; from his mind, from his room, from his life.

“Please, Croft.”

Mycroft sighed and lowered himself back down on top of Greg, resting their foreheads together. He closed his eyes in denial of his own weakness. How long had he been falling for this man, this man who walked in his dreams, this man who called him Croft in the midnight hours, who kissed him, who made his dreams feel like more of a life than the life he had?

What was once a fantasy, was nothing more than a betrayal.

“You violated my mind. You twisted my dreams. You betrayed my trust.”

“No, never! Please look at me, gorgeous,” Greg pleaded.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” Mycroft rolled onto his side, releasing Greg and staring at the ceiling. Headlights of a passing car created a golden glow that chased a shadow across his ceiling.

“It’s not what you think and you know it,” Greg’s quiet voice cut the silence. “You know I have been falling for you for a long time now.”

“Why should I believe you?” Mycroft asked. He felt Greg turn on the bed to face him.

“You’re a Holmes. Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell these things?”

“None of this is real.”

“You know better than that, Croft.” Greg’s voice grew firm, like it did when he felt Mycroft was being particularly obtuse. Mycroft turned his head to look at Greg. He was so close.

“Fine. Yes, you are right. I knew there was something else occurring. I had suspected for a while, and then the tangible evidence became impossible to ignore. I did not wish to ruin what we had, and then you called me Croft in my office…” Mycroft’s voice trailed off. “I just don’t understand why.”

“Is it so hard to believe I might actually be interested in you?”

“You were in my dreams.”

“And you let me stay,” Greg gave him a small smile.

“I do not understand why you would have entered my dreams to begin with, especially knowing that I would be in a position to have to report you.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair as he let out a sigh. “You remember a few months ago, you were having a run of nightmares?”

Mycroft frowned at the change of topic. Suddenly, the memories flooded his mind and the vivid images that plagued his nights came flashing back. Night after night he had been haunted by images of watching Sherlock die, by his own hand or Mycroft’s, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He awoke every morning with his throat hoarse from screaming throughout the night. Suddenly, the dreams had stopped.

“You were under attack from another Dreamwalker. You fell asleep when we were working in your office and I scented the attack. I only walked into your dreams to fight the other Dreamwalker off, but you were so lost in your spiral I had to nudge you into the sun. I only told you to have fun. I guess I got curious.”

“You got curious?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Greg looked down at the blanket on the bed and began absentmindedly tracing a pattern with his fingers. “About what?”

“You know, what does Mycroft Holmes do for fun? I’d been drawn to you for a long time and the temptation was too strong to resist. You weren’t supposed to be able to see me, but you did, and you were open and free and I couldn’t help but return to you.” Greg looked back up at Mycroft. “I fell for you, Croft and I could tell you felt it too. The longer it went on, the harder it got. I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you.”

Mycroft thought over what Greg had said for a moment. “I can understand that fear. If I am honest, I have been in possession of the amulets for some time now, but was reluctant to use them.”

“Are you going to turn me over?” Greg asked quietly.

“My clearance level would dictate that I am to report any and all unregistered, unauthorized Dreamwalkers,” Mycroft’s hands went to the amulet around his neck.

“I get it. It’s ok.” Greg’s expression fell.

“But,” Mycroft looked down at the amulet and back to Greg. Greg stilled. “I have been growing rather tired of my clearance level of late.”

“Yeah?”

Mycroft gave a shy shrug as he tucked it back into his shirt. Greg broke into a huge grin and launched himself at Mycroft, knocking them both backwards onto the bed.

“Hi,” Mycroft smiled up at him.

“I’m going to make you very happy, Croft.”

“Do your best, Dreamwalker.”


End file.
